Puppet on a Lonely String
by Edmelon
Summary: Greed realises that there's far less worth in his second chance. One-shot. Angst/Hurt(-ish?)


"_One minute I held the key;_

_Next the walls were closed on me;_

_And I discovered that my castle stands;_

_Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand,"_

_- _When I Ruled the World, Coldplay.

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Greed's appreciation for his take two in life was drastically overturned that night his old comrade stumbled into the depths of the Central tunnels. With Bido's life, the Avaricious' hope and sense of security for the future had come crashing down and in their absence came a crushing blow dealt from the very fist he had pledged his loyalty to.

Memories.

The memories had returned first.

Greed saw himself, older, yet still with the Ouroboros tattooed on his hand, halfway across Amestris; he saw the Devil's Nest; his gang; his chimeras; his comrades; bar; money; power; women; sex; fighting and fighting and fighting… He saw Wrath emerge from the shadows and thrust his blade into his throat; saw himself elevated above his siblings; he saw Father lower his helpless body down into the vat of searing heat…

Then darkness until the Prince came along.

Ling yelled at him within the stone, gave him his life and body and then he'd stood back up again inside Father's lair and breathed the first breath of his new lifetime. He was new – a new being, a new Homunculus who set to contribute to Father's work like a good little offspring just like his brothers did.

But that was disturbing because something had changed – something had changed between now and then and Greed was baffled because if these were his memories – his true memories, his _true _self – then that meant that he had died because he betrayed Father, but here he was down in these dingy pipelines with these creepy mannequins attending to his chores like a mere servant. His memories painted a picture – a _vivid_ picture – of a confident, cocky gang leader who seized the day and grabbed every opportunity he took all in the name of freedom and power and greed. They were like night and day – two different people. Perhaps not deep, deep down, but he, his present self, had not fled the dark of Father's hideout for a life above ground (now, _above _sea-level, that would be nice, he admitted) in Dublith. That meant that he had felt differently about his Father than he did now. And it worried Greed to know that something had happened to change his perspective so drastically.

But, thankfully, the memories soon provided an answer and it hit him like a ton of bricks. How stupid he was. Of course Father had wiped his memories, but the realisation only led to far more pressing issues.

He was being played. All along. Played like a marionette or a pawn in a game of chess just for the sake of his creator's grand scheme. He'd been tricked. With his memories gone he had been in prime condition for reshaping like the sludge left after a dodgy transmutation. Father's propaganda overwhelmed him. He was a blank canvas ready to be bred as a perfect son…

He was a pawn.

A bloody pawn who's self-consciousness had been moulded by Father; who had been convinced that his sense of duty was entirely his own. He lived in a glass case like a puppet on display, his paint apparently bright and shiny, but it was a mere shoddy attempt to cover up the worn old colours underneath that Father had despised so.

He had thought that this was where he'd belonged and always would, although every now and then he did get that aching feeling he couldn't explain that craved more, more, much _more _than this… But it had never amounted to anything and his name was Greed, after all. He expected as much. But he'd never suspected that part of it might lay from the shadows of the Devil's Nest and from the remnants of his crew that called for their leader.

Greed realised now. He craved that freedom his past self had achieved. He had been brilliant. He had been satisfied and independent and he was not tied and chained to that tyrant of a parents who sent his stupidly willing children out to the battlefield – _he _did not follow Father like a lost puppy, drool over him like those other lapdogs and it was that that had distinguished him from his other siblings whom he had despised so.

Yet now his old haunt was in ruins and the souls of his former partners still screamed inside, their blood still spattered up its walls.

He had been stripped of his life; his dignity; everything he had worked to obtain in his long lifetime. His little world had shattered like glass – the world where Greed was King, in charge and in control of his own life and goals and awareness just as it should have been and should always be. He remembered the liberty and the sense of purpose and he strived for it once again. The _need _ran through his body, coursed through his veins and he knew that he _wanted _it. He would not rest under Father's rule – his dictatorship. He wasn't just some weapon or foot soldier or some God damned wooden _puppet_. He was Greed.

And he would build up his own world of freedom again.

A fiery rage ignited somewhere deep inside, yet only one word instantly came to mind;

"_Bradley."_

And with that he snarled and set off into the night like a creature of the shadows.

Wrath had some explaining to do before he could restore his former kingdom.

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******_A/N_**_: Written at nearly midnight during a burst of inspiration. Please tell me if you find any errors. I hope you enjoy ^^_


End file.
